Therean looked up at the alien sky spanning over the collosal Dark Portal; Outland. The stench of fel and caress of magic was all about him, as if carried on the wind itself.
Two weeks ago Ashenfury, the gruff, stern inquisitor that Therean couldn't help but feel disdained him immensely instructed him in short terms to procure "red dye, five perfect deviate scales, and 5 bolts of netherweave, from my shattered homeworld". The first two were easy enough. Red Dye can be purchased at any trading post, crossroads as was the case, and the deviate scales weren't as difficult to find as one would otherwise suspect; Therean had, by chance, happened to have been living in a cave directly above the Wailing caverns not two weeks earlier for his extended sequestering prior to his application. He had done so determined to wrest control of himself from advanced arcane addiction, successfully one might say- though the unstable arcana tickling his senses in Outland made him doubt how 'recovered' he really was, or ever would be. In any cse, during this sabbatical of sorts he had lived off the local flora and fauna, and become quite familiar with the deviate species below, including which had the best pelts. Were that the extent of his commision, then perhaps he would be Grim already. Not so. Stepping forward from the immense portal toward a brazier, Therean dropped 5 bundles of netherweave into the embers.
The dishonesty was palpable, even though he denied it at the time. Certainly, he rationalied that in a way all netherweave was from Outland- or that Ashenfury was merely being descriptive or education in his manner when he specifying 'from outland'. Such it was that Therean came to purchase some low grade, well travelled netherweave from a Goblin rag merchant. Two weeks had passed since then, and the sizable orc, who was usually hard to miss, was nowhere to be seen. At first Therean simply assumed he was busy, but as time went by without a single word he began to doubt himself. As denied guilt often does, immediately the shortcut of buying the netherweave shed it's skin and blossomed. Therean would practically cringe when asking other Grims after Ashenfury. Did he know? The confirmation came from the huntress Ryanica, in a manner of speaking.
Therean took great comfort that somewhere in the Grim there was one who did not toally discount him, that saw something of use, of merit in him to be exploited and turned to purpose. Though comforting, it was hardly a relief, perhaps ever more the burden, as the fear of eroding this shinging weighed heavily upon him. Further, the Huntress had a certain aphoristic quality to her that could be mistaken for simple kindness, when in fact there was far more to her deeds and words than presented for all to gorge themselves on. Many a time, especially when isolated in the cave, simple utterances of the troll had revealed themselves to be correlated in a profound new meaning. As such, when Therean spoke of Ashenfury's abscence to her, her simple advice struck him hard. With a short nod and a smile she had said, "A test of patience".
Did she know? Did he know? How could they possibly? Had he even done anything wrong? That he doubted it confirmed it surely. Therean resolved to take Ryanica's word as what it most likely was, a last chance. Thus he stood under the fel side of the Dark Portal, the acrid stench of smouldering netherweave gracefully filling his senses, relieving them of the supernatural senastions of Outland. Under his arm, a sling stuffed full of netherweave, pried from the still twitching corpses of fel orcs in Hellfire peninsula. Though pungent and offensive, his time in Outland had given him a certain kind of respect for the place. He could see why so many of his kin went there. Not for the magic, thought Therean, but because they see themselves in the crumbling, fel poisoned, magic infused land- circling ever closer to annihilation in the twisting nether. A tragic land of great and terrible histories, fading away as if it were never there. A shudder ran up Therean's spine, and he hurried forward and through the dark portal.
Emerging on the otherside, the scarred terrain of the blasted lands looked positively wholesome and sound. After living off the land in Kalimdor, the entire continent of the Eastern Kingdoms smacked of a foul mixture of bad history infused with the trifold stench of magic, fel, and undeath (if indeed they were not all the same thing). He was notably kinder on the place now, which had a reassuring 'realness' to it. dropping to his knees on the great monolith to rest his load, Therean felt his Hearthstone pulse. Accessing it, Ashenfury's growl hacked forth, "Where are you supplicant? I trust you have done as instructed?". Morbid be it as it may, Therean could not help a smile.
